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Tales from the Deadside
Part 1.
It was a glorious summer's evening on the Med, I was sipping an ice-cool glass of beer looking at the deep blue sea and wondering whether I should phone a mate or two to make a night of it. Work had finished a bit early and I'd stopped for a quick one on the way home: we'd put in a hell of a week - but I always liked a hard day's work because it meant a hard day's pay. I was just starting to think which mate I'd like to have a chat with when this bloke sidled up to me, he was a bit strange in appearance because gold jewellery on neck and fingers, a pink shirt, skintight black velvet drainpipes and white trainers are normally only seen around here in the Revue Bar. Still, he sort of simpered a greeting so I manly replied 'Hi, howya doing,' in a friendly enough way. I casually glanced at him and thought: this bloke needs a bit of advice...lanky greasy badly-cut barnet, lots of nostril hair, rather green-looking teeth and a faint whiff of mouldy clothes or sulphorous eggs. Still, not mine to reason why... 'What's that?', he abruptly asked, pointing at my beer, and thinking he wanted a recommendation I told him, only to hear my new-found mate ordering two. Now, I'm never one to turn down a free drink, even if I hardly know the other party - fair enough, I've been guilty of doing the same thing myself with a shapely wench or two in the past. So I tells him thanks and take a big pull on the beer. Funny thing is, there are these sort of white grains on the counter and even a couple on the bottle, I don't put two and two together, however - you're such a pushover, Don old mate - and suddenly my world is turning, the lights are going round and round and everything is becoming very hazy. I start staggering a bit, hey Don old son what's this, liver packed in? - you've never fallen over after two beers before. I dimly figure it must be something I've eaten or just a migraine coming on or something like that, my new mate Rob suddenly seems a safe port in a storm and I tell him I'm losing it, can he call me a taxi or point me the right way home? No problem, he replies, and as things get dimmer and dimmer we leave the bar, I'm leaning on him a bit but I don't think anyone notices, I think: thank God this nice guy is around to help. I can hardly make out the contours of the room any more. Anyway, I stagger along, our route takes us into parts of town I have never seen before and even through the fog that is my sweaty perception of reality, it looks bad. The buildings are rotten and falling down. There is disgusting debris in the gutter and there are foul-smelling pools of stench in the blocked-up drains. There are dirty-looking women oddly undressed in just panties and corset on more than one corner and one minces at me: 'Fancy a good time, son' but I'm so patently out of it I can't be bothered to reply. One youngish lad in strange garb gets a wink from Rob but I can't understand why such a youngster is out this late. Our route is getting murkier and murkier but Rob seem to know the way. As the way gets dirtier and more labyrinthine, my head oddly starts to clear a bit and I realise I am in a very scary part of town. Rob is my only mate, I summon what strength I have left to mutter: 'Rob - where are we? What's happening? Can't we go back where we came from?' Rob turns to me. His face has turned gaunt, the eyes are unseeing, there is no smile. 'You're with us now, Don. Or you soon will be.' He rubs my shoulder. 'Won't you join us? We are the happy folk. Don't question what you see and all will be well. Do as I say and not as I do. Here, take soma this, for starters. We are going to the land of new beginnings and sheep. Others say I have earned the right to be called first amongst sequels - I couldn't possibly comment - try this one, it's called pro-zest and it'll make you feel good. My friends call me Spike.' He pats my behind in a way I know is surely meant as a friendly reminder he's my new mate and mentor and nothing else. 'Come on. Let's go. Welcome to the Deadside.' |
:eek: :scared: :eek:
G:D |
Looking forward to the next episode:eek:
Oh dear - on the med:scared: :scared: :scared: :D |
Geez Don,
it was bad enough reading Badgers efforts ( whilst everyone else said ' good on 'ya mate ' ), without you losing the plot aswell........ Stick to what you know...I feel you're more of a realist than a fictionalist.:) Maybe I'm wrong.....are you given a license to write crap when you land on the 'down under' shores?:D |
007 eat your heart out:D
arlene |
Re: Tales from the Deadside
Originally posted by pleasancefamily Part 1. It was a glorious summer's evening on the Med, I was sipping an ice-cool glass of beer looking at the deep blue sea and wondering whether I should phone a mate or two to make a night of it. Work had finished a bit early and I'd stopped for a quick one on the way home: we'd put in a hell of a week - but I always liked a hard day's work because it meant a hard day's pay. I was just starting to think which mate I'd like to have a chat with when this bloke sidled up to me, he was a bit strange in appearance because gold jewellery on neck and fingers, a pink shirt, skintight black velvet drainpipes and white trainers are normally only seen around here in the Revue Bar. Still, he sort of simpered a greeting so I manly replied 'Hi, howya doing,' in a friendly enough way. I casually glanced at him and thought: this bloke needs a bit of advice...lanky greasy badly-cut barnet, lots of nostril hair, rather green-looking teeth and a faint whiff of mouldy clothes or sulphorous eggs. Still, not mine to reason why... 'What's that?', he abruptly asked, pointing at my beer, and thinking he wanted a recommendation I told him, only to hear my new-found mate ordering two. Now, I'm never one to turn down a free drink, even if I hardly know the other party - fair enough, I've been guilty of doing the same thing myself with a shapely wench or two in the past. So I tells him thanks and take a big pull on the beer. Funny thing is, there are these sort of white grains on the counter and even a couple on the bottle, I don't put two and two together, however - you're such a pushover, Don old mate - and suddenly my world is turning, the lights are going round and round and everything is becoming very hazy. I start staggering a bit, hey Don old son what's this, liver packed in? - you've never fallen over after two beers before. I dimly figure it must be something I've eaten or just a migraine coming on or something like that, my new mate Rob suddenly seems a safe port in a storm and I tell him I'm losing it, can he call me a taxi or point me the right way home? No problem, he replies, and as things get dimmer and dimmer we leave the bar, I'm leaning on him a bit but I don't think anyone notices, I think: thank God this nice guy is around to help. I can hardly make out the contours of the room any more. Anyway, I stagger along, our route takes us into parts of town I have never seen before and even through the fog that is my sweaty perception of reality, it looks bad. The buildings are rotten and falling down. There is disgusting debris in the gutter and there are foul-smelling pools of stench in the blocked-up drains. There are dirty-looking women oddly undressed in just panties and corset on more than one corner and one minces at me: 'Fancy a good time, son' but I'm so patently out of it I can't be bothered to reply. One youngish lad in strange garb gets a wink from Rob but I can't understand why such a youngster is out this late. Our route is getting murkier and murkier but Rob seem to know the way. As the way gets dirtier and more labyrinthine, my head oddly starts to clear a bit and I realise I am in a very scary part of town. Rob is my only mate, I summon what strength I have left to mutter: 'Rob - where are we? What's happening? Can't we go back where we came from?' Rob turns to me. His face has turned gaunt, the eyes are unseeing, there is no smile. 'You're with us now, Don. Or you soon will be.' He rubs my shoulder. 'Won't you join us? We are the happy folk. Don't question what you see and all will be well. Do as I say and not as I do. Here, take soma this, for starters. We are going to the land of new beginnings and sheep. Others say I have earned the right to be called first amongst sequels - I couldn't possibly comment - try this one, it's called pro-zest and it'll make you feel good. My friends call me Spike.' He pats my behind in a way I know is surely meant as a friendly reminder he's my new mate and mentor and nothing else. 'Come on. Let's go. Welcome to the Deadside.' |
Part 2.
I figure it's best not to provoke this dude too much - I'm still very uneasy on my feet and the world has not stopped spinning. Rob veers left and opens a steel security door with a couple of keys that I notice are hanging from a key ring in the form of a handcuff. We go in. The door clangs shut. More or less getting my senses back after the Mickey Finn, I realise I am trapped on the Deadside. But hey! How bad can it be? Rob has a few personal hygiene problems but there surely can't be anything more serious. Suddenly Rob is Mr Nice. He positively lights up as he motions me down some stairs into a cellar that I see has been given the nameplate 'Antipod'. 'Come on, Don', Rob says, encouragingly, 'let's have some fun. Let me tell you a bit about myself and where I'm coming from!' We go down about 20 steps and end up in quite a bright room that at first sight seems very shiny and modern. Then I look a bit more closely and realise that - puzzlingly - Rob seems to have used kitchen baking foil wrapped around an old wooden table and pasted on the walls to create a somewhat cheap-looking aluminium effect. Pride of place in the room goes to a computer and accessories, but although it all looks workable there is an uncomfortable feel to the place, something not quite right - it also smells a bit, well, cheesy and in need of a good clean. Rob bustles ahead and clears something off the computer desk that I can't quite see. On the wall behind the PC I notice a couple of trophies and a big display board headed 'Rob's Big Successes'. The grandest plaque tells us: 'Rob Rools OK!' and Rob has handwritten underneath: 'I'm the boss!'. There are some quite interesting team photos and I look at these. One is headed: 'When Rob was soccer captain' and another 'Rob wins the big race' - but when I look at these it is quite obvious that in both cases Rob has superimposed a picture of his head on someone else's torso. I turn to the degree certificate: at last, this guy is for real - but my head drops as I realise he has painted out the word 'Polytechnic' and proudly written in 'University'. Still, qualifications don't really matter. At least the family interest photos must reveal something good about Rob: I turn to 'My best girl' but either Rob is into necrophilia or he lives with his mum - he sees me looking and smilingly confirms: 'Mummy. Keep your voice down - she's upstairs.' Rob turns serious. He pushes me in the small of my back - I'm sure there is no hint of a lingering touch - and directs me to the computer. 'Don. You can be one of us. You can join us in the big plan. We are going to the land of contentment, the green hills of New Zealand, there are 40 sheep for every man.' The screen clicks on and the words www.y*****.co.uk light up. Rob sees me looking and explains his big joke. 'It's my baby. We're going from the UK to New Zealand. But I call it yuk. Because the UK is pants. Really pants. Do you get it? Yuk sounds like yuck. Because the UK is pants and everything is better in New Zealand. The UK is really yuck-ee. Do you get it?' The phone rings. Rob answers: 'How are'ya, Yuck-to-En-Zed, what can I do for you?' He looks at me and winks conspiratorially. I muster a faint smile. I need to escape from this madman. |
Seems a bit excessive to me!! Glad I'm not running a forum.
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Originally posted by exlimbo Seems a bit excessive to me!! Glad I'm not running a forum. |
Completely lost for words......:D :D :D
Whisky |
Morning Don,
Heard that you've been in a strange way recently and have upset some more sensitive soles. Surely life in Europe without YEPs is'nt that boring, that you need to use the crash and burn scenario. Anyway, are there some more parts to your story. Will a certain retiring ex Pat who might be in Oz, might be in NZ, or even in central Europe, get a walk on role? That will keep the conspiratists (sp?) happy. By the way, its gorgeous here in Dunners right now. Must water your cactus while I remember. Its bloody prickly too!!!! |
bloody hell mate. What the eff is this?
Maybe we should start a literary corner.. BM :D :D |
Originally posted by HUP Welcome exlimbo. New member or new identity??? New member - I don't need to switch identities! All the same - I think I signed on before, but never posted anything and have forgotten name, password etc since then, to say nothing of changing my emaiil address!! |
Originally posted by southerner Morning Don, Must water your cactus while I remember. Its bloody prickly too!!!! |
now your getting a bit wierd don ... such bitterness :scared:
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